The Counsel of Siblings
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: Sometimes nothing but an older sister's advice will do. Or a younger brother's. Series of Susan/Edmund bonding scenes, following movie canon for the most part, but also pre-movie/AU... Enjoy!


_So this is apparently what happens when you allow me to read LWW to my nine year old cousin when I have far too much time on my hands... the plot bunnies run a tad wild... =P Enjoy and I'll send virtual cookies to anyone who can find the Frances Hodgson Burnett reference ;)_

 **The Counsel of Siblings**

 _September 1939_

The family clustered at one end of the platform, a cloud of gloom palling their features. The youngest, a sandy-haired girl of eight, was sobbing openly. Her older sister had put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, though it was clearly an ineffective one. Although the older girl herself was dry-eyed, her clenched jaw and ramrod posture belied her silent distress. Her free hand was clutching the end of her conker-brown plait in an unconsciously childish gesture. Two boys, clearly their brothers, stood on the other side of the little group. One was stoic, the other scowling.

"Michael," the name came out as a strangled gasp, a gasp that was half-choked by the threat of impending tears. The man around whom they were all clustered, the man in uniform, reached out and placed a hand on his wife's cheek.

"I'll be all right, Helen. I promise."

Another moment and he had pulled her into his arms, whispering endearments too low for the children to hear as she buried her face in his shoulder. When they separated, however, Helen had plastered a falsely cheery smile upon her face, determined to give her husband the send-off he deserved.

"You'd better hurry and say goodbye to the children. You can't afford to miss your train," she warned.

Michael nodded, shifting his pack on his shoulders and turning towards his daughters.

"Please don't go, Daddy, please!"

The younger of the two hurled herself at him. Catching her at arm's length before she could throw him off balance, Michael crouched down beside her, "I have to, Lucy," he said gently. "You know that. I have to go and fight for the King; for the country; for what's right."

"But I'll miss you!" Lucy wailed.

"And I'll miss you," he answered, gathering her into his arms, "But I need you to be a big girl for me now and wave me off with a smile. Can you do that?"

Susan watched as her father fussed over Lucy, tickling her to raise a reluctant, watery smile, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears at bay. Mum had explain how important it was to be grown-up and brave now that Dad was leaving. When at last he straightened up and turned to her, she stretched out her hands as she had seen the older women do to their leaving husbands so many times in the past month or so.

"Stay safe. Come back to us," she breathed. Dad chuckled, pulling her into the hug she both sorely needed and dared not ask for, "My little lady. You're growing up so fast. Help your mother, won't you? Take care of your brother."

Susan nodded into his chest, knowing, even though she couldn't see them, that Dad's eyes would be lingering on Edmund. She inhaled one last time, trying to commit his scent to memory. He glanced down at her, "Are you learning me by heart, Susan?"

She shook her head, "I don't need to. I already know you by heart. You are inside my heart."

Then, moment of tenderness over, she pulled herself together and pushed him slightly towards to Peter and Edmund.

"Go," she whispered, fighting to keep her voice from cracking.

Dad followed her advice, spending his last few moments on the platform saying goodbye to Peter and Edmund. Knowing better than to try to get anything out of Ed, he merely clapped him on the shoulder in a silent gesture of both approbation and farewell, before shaking Peter by the hand, "Keep them all ship-shape for me?"

"Aye-aye, Captain!" Peter exclaimed in reply, snapping into a mock salute.

"Good man," Dad clapped him on the shoulder, "Look after yourself."

For a moment, he stood, seemingly lost, but then the guard blew his whistle and he leaped away from them and up on to the train, waving as it bore him out of their lives and away to training in the Sussex Downs.

* * *

"Go on inside and wash up for lunch," Mum ordered as the five of them reached their front steps. Lucy and Peter gave subdued nods, but Ed, rather as if he had been struggling not to bolt all the way home and the idea of normality being resumed was all the trigger he needed, took to his heels across the road and fled.

"Ed!" Peter bellowed after him. Susan touched his arm, "I'll go."

Edmund had a head start, but she was two years older and had the advantage of knowing where he would be going. She'd used it as a refuge herself before she'd gone off to St Mary's and had shown it to him in case he ever needed to escape the house for some reason.

Sure enough, when she rounded the corner, panting, of the alley behind the churchyard, she saw him perched on the top of the half-ruined wall at the end of it.

"Ed, do come down, it's time for lunch," she pleaded.

"I don't care! Go away!"

She arched an eyebrow, "You're not really going to make me come up there, are you?"

"Go away, Susanna!" But Edmund sounded more upset than angry and, when Susan ignored the fact that he'd called her by her hated full name, and swung herself up to sit beside him, he didn't try to stop her.s

The two dark-haired Pevensie children crouched beside each other in silence for a while. Susan, used to her younger brother's moods, could tell something was eating away at him and decided not to press him, but instead to wait out his silence.

"He didn't even say anything to me! He said something to all of you, but he didn't say anything to me!"

"Ed!" Susan couldn't help recoiling at the bitterness in her younger brother's voice, before trying to explain to him what she'd noticed earlier.

"Dad knows us, Ed. He knows what we need from him better than Mum knows what we need from her. He knew that Lucy needed a hug, that I needed to be reminded that Mum would be relying on me now, that Peter needed to be treated like a man. And he knew that you'd only be uncomfortable if he tried to say anything."

Susan glanced sideways as she paused to gather her thoughts. Ed didn't look convinced.

"I'm not making a very good job of explaining this, am I?" she sighed, "Look, be honest with me. When we were standing on that platform, did you really know what to say to Dad?"

Reluctantly, Ed shook his head, "There was too much. None of it seemed good enough."

"Exactly. Dad felt the same way. He had too much to say to you too, so he didn't say any of it. None of it would have been enough, because you're his favourite. He could say something to us because he had simple messages for us, but simple wouldn't have been good enough for you. Not for his Ed."

"Really?" Ed's voice was small, softer than Susan had heard it in months, since he had gone away to school and fallen in with that horrid crowd of bullies.

"Trust me," she reached out for him, daring to put a tentative arm around his shoulders. To her surprise, he didn't shrug her off, but even leaned into her touch.

Susan knew they should be going home for lunch, but for once, she didn't press the point, deciding that her insecure brother's need ran far deeper and was more important than food or following the rules. It was only once it began to drizzle rather heavily that she made to swing herself down.

"Come on, Ed, it would be rotten to get wet now."

For a moment, Edmund made as though he hadn't heard her and Susan held her breath, but then he slid off the wall unexpectedly, even making it to the ground before her. As she straddled the wall, preparing to push herself off and slide to the ground, he suddenly looked up at her.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Susan didn't labour the point. She merely nodded, accepting the rare and graceless word for what it was, a peace offering of sorts, an apology in advance for how horrid and sulky Ed was bound to be in the near future. She landed lightly beside her brother and the two walked home in surprisingly companionable silence.


End file.
